


Dennis Reynolds: King of the Cats

by TheVioletHour (TinternAbbey)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Crack, Dennis is a bastard cat, Gen, so much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 08:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinternAbbey/pseuds/TheVioletHour
Summary: Dennis transforms into a cat. The usual amount of chaos ensues.-"What's all the yarn for?""Oh, those are kitten mittens," said Dee. "We tried putting them on Dennis so he'd quit scratching us, but the little bitch tore them up."





	Dennis Reynolds: King of the Cats

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I don't even know where this came from. I was thinking about Dennis' habit of scratching Mac, and realized that between the scratching, his adoption of the junkyard cat, and his relationship with Maureen, Dennis is pretty feline-oriented. So then this nonsense spilled out.

"I'm telling you, Frank, it's Dennis! I saw him change right in front of me!"

"Charlie, you are high as shit. There is no way that cat is Dennis. It's just an alley cat!"

" _Alley_ cat? He is way too clean to be an alley cat, man. I can smell it on him."

"Why the hell would Dennis turn into a cat?"

"It was the _yuck puddle_ , Frank. I keep telling you! The yuck puddle did this to him!"

Frank winced a bit as Charlie's voice rose another octave. The two of them were squabbling just outside the men's bathroom, while Dee sat behind the bar—halfway into her second beer—and tried her best to tune them out. Mac came barreling through the door a moment later, swiftly assessed the situation, and (like any good security guard) decided to intervene.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—what is going on here?" Mac demanded, storming toward the bathrooms. "And where's Dennis?"

Charlie pointed downward.

Mac stared in befuddlement at the cat seated on the floor, tail curled neatly around its sleek, well-groomed body. He eyed Mac with cool disdain.

"Charlie here's tripping balls," Frank explained. "And he didn't bother to share with me! He thinks that _cat_ down there is Dennis."

"It _is_ Dennis! How many times do I have to—" Charlie broke off in a frustrated huff, then turned to Mac, who looked as if somebody had handed him a particularly complicated puzzle. "Mac, you've got to believe me! Me and Dennis were in the bathroom, right? But I forgot to tell him about the new hole in the floor, so he tripped on it and landed right in the yuck puddle. And dude, the puddle started _glowing_ , and it started sliming all over Dennis. And _then_ he turned into that cat!"

"Like I said," said Frank, nodding wisely. "High as shit."

"Dennis is the cat?" Ignoring Frank, Mac knelt on the floor to better examine the animal. "You're not shitting me, Charlie? This is _really_ Dennis?"

"Does that look like an alley cat to you?"

It most certainly did _not_ look like an alley cat—or any other cat Mac had ever seen. He had Dennis' exact coloring, for one thing, and looked as if he could use a few extra meals. The cat continued to sit there, tail twitching slightly, and when Mac drew closer he was startled to find Dennis' eyes staring back at him.

"Dude," breathed Mac. "Holy _shit_. Frank, I think Charlie might be right. We've got to change him back somehow!"

Frank whipped out his gun. "Want me to shoot him?"

"What? _No!_ How the hell would that solve anything?"

As another squabbling match ensued, Dennis the cat decided to wash his face with an immaculately clean paw. Dee, meanwhile, came out from behind the bar to investigate the cause of her massive headache.

"Can't you boners hear yourselves?" she demanded, waving her (third) half-empty beer. "Do you really believe some magical puddle in the men's room turned Dennis into a goddamn cat?"

Which triggered another round of bickering until Charlie cried out, "Look, _look_ , I'll prove it to you! Everybody shut up!"

Crouching down on the floor, Charlie pulled a wedge of cheese from his grimy pocket and held it out to the cat.

"Heyyy, Dennis. Look what I've got, buddy!"

With a sudden hiss, Dennis swiped at the cheese and sent it tumbling to the floor.

"See? _SEE?_ " said Charlie. "Dennis hates it when I have cheese!"

"Quit calling the stupid cat Dennis," snapped Dee. "That doesn't prove anything!"

"Oh, you want more proof? You want more _proof_ , Dee? You were sitting behind the bar the whole time! You saw Dennis go into the bathroom, didn't you?"

"He's probably still in there, checking his mascara or something."

"I'll go look!" Mac announced.

He promptly disappeared into the men's room, giving Frank enough time to snatch the perfectly good cheese sitting on the floor. Dennis resumed grooming himself.

Frantic footsteps announced Mac's return. "Guys, guys, he's not there! He _has_ to be the cat."

"Oh, goddamn it," Dee sighed. "Let me take a look at him."

Everyone backed away while Dee seated herself on the floor, just inches from Dennis. The two of them stared at each other for half a minute, until Dennis slowly lowered himself to a crouch. Holding himself as still as a statue, he continued to stare intently at Dee.

" _Shit_ , you guys," she said, half-panicked. "I think he wants to eat me."

"Why would he want to eat _you_?" demanded Mac.

"Because he thinks I'm a goddamn bird!"

Dennis' whiskers twitched in the cat equivalent of a chuckle.

"Well now that we've all come to an agreement that the cat _is_ Dennis," said Mac, "there has to be a way to get him back to normal. I was thinking we could return him to the yuck puddle, but what if—DAMN IT, Frank, put the gun down!"

"What if we use silver bullets?" Frank asked, mouth full of cheese. "Like with werewolves?"

"HE'S NOT A WEREWOLF!"

Charlie was the first one to notice Dennis slinking away. "Hey, where's he going?"

With a single jump, Dennis made it to the top of the bar counter and stood there, watching the gang. His ears were alert, tail pointed in the air. When Mac approached the counter, he became aware of a distinctively loud _purr_ coming from the cat.

"He's happy!" cried Mac, grinning at Dennis. "Do you guys hear that?"

"Uh, no, dude. That's not a happy purr," said Charlie, coming up behind Mac.

"What are you talking about, Charlie? Purring _always_ means the cat is happy. That's what cats do!"

"Who's the cat expert here? Listen to him, dude. It's more of a _grr-grr-grr_ sound, like he's frustrated, because he wants something from us! _That's_ what cats do, Mac. They demand shit from people!"

Dennis was pacing the countertop now, purring louder. When Mac listened closer, he had to admit it sounded fast and frantic, like an over-revved engine. " _Oh!_ " Mac's face lit up again. "I get it. He wants a beer!"

"He doesn't want beer, dumbass," said Dee. "He's a cat. He wants milk."

Dennis turned to Dee and growled.

"Beer, bitch," Mac ordered, snapping his fingers at her. " _Now_."

Dee flipped him off and went to find a bowl.

* * *

Mac was the first one who tried petting Dennis.

Seconds later he was howling in pain, frantically mopping the thin trails of blood down his cheek. "Shit, shit, shit. Get me some ice, Charlie. Quick!"

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him. "What's the big deal, dude? Dennis has scratched you before."

"Not with _claws_ , Charlie! It stings like hell!" Mac pulled the towel from his face, gazing at the bloodstains in horror. "Dude, do you think it could be infected? Somebody get some Neosporin!"

"What's that?" asked Frank. "Some fancy-ass gay thing?"

The horror on Mac's face deepened. "Do you really not know what Neosporin is? _How_ have you stayed alive this long?"

Frank shrugged and reached for a pistachio. "Get scratched, plug it with some trash."

Charlie nodded in agreement. "He always plugs it with trash, man."

"I will be right back," Mac declared, throwing down his bloody towel. "Nobody lets Dennis out of this room, all right? He stays _right_ here!"

"Relax, dickwad," said Dee. "He'll probably just nap for the next twelve hours."

Dennis was already curled up on the bar counter, eyes closed. Ready to recharge his energy in case somebody needed another scratching.

Mac wiped some more blood off his face and headed out the door.

* * *

It was _supposed_ to be a ten-minute trip to the convenience store for some first aid.

_But_ it took an extra thirty minutes because Mac might have been _slightly_ distracted by the beefcake at the checkout counter. Things were going really great, the two of them chatting about workout routines and protein shakes—until the guy slipped out to the back of the store to call his girlfriend.

Mac returned, somewhat deflated, to an unpleasant mess at Paddy's.

First the smell hit him: the sickly stench of a dead rodent. Next, he noticed a quantity of shredded yarn on the floor, scattered among several empty cans. Dennis was perched on top of a table, washing his face yet again, as if immune to the horribly mutilated rat that lay bleeding right below him.

Charlie hurriedly tried to explain it.

They had been trying to get Dennis to eat. Charlie conveniently happened to have some cat food on him (Exhibit A), which Dennis refused to touch. So Dee got some more expensive kinds for him to try (Exhibit B), but Dennis wouldn't eat those either. So then Charlie got the bright idea to bring a half-killed rat (Exhibit C) up from the basement for Dennis to pounce on.

"But all he did was cut the rat up," said Charlie, pointing to the butchery on the floor, "and he arranged its body parts into some kind of pattern or something."

"Pretty methodical," Frank piped up from the bar counter.

It was downright gross.

"He didn't _eat_ the rat, though," Mac pointed out.

"He didn't eat the rat," Charlie admitted. "Maybe if it was _cooked_ , though—like if we threw it on the _grill_ —"

Mac interrupted this train of thought before it could grow any worse. "What's all the yarn for?"

"Oh, those are kitten mittens," said Dee. "We tried putting them on Dennis so he'd quit scratching us, but the little bitch tore them up."

"And Frank, why the hell do you have a candy wrapper stuck to your hand?"

"Cat scratch," Frank answered with perfect nonchalance. "The goddamn animal's berserk."

"Because you keep shoving rats and Friskies at him!" said Mac. "Are you guys forgetting that Dennis has a very refined palette? Maybe he wants _real_ food?"

"Don't look at _me_ ," said Dee. "Goddamn it, Mac, I swear if you try to feed me to that cat—"

But the rest of her words were lost in the slamming of the door.

* * *

"Check it out, bitches!" Mac crowed in triumph an hour later. "Look who's eating filet mignon from Guigino's!"

Dennis was back on the bar counter, taking dainty bites of meat from a plate.

"Filet mignon?" Frank echoed indignantly. "With _my_ credit card?"

"Well yeah, Frank, of course I used your card. I'm broke."

"You're spending _my_ money on filet mignon for a goddamn cat? And you didn't get any for _me_?"

"Got to admit, dude, I could go for a steak right now," Charlie chimed in. "Cleaning up all that rat blood is making me hungry."

"I'm sorry, but both you are perfectly _capable_ of strolling into Guigino's and ordering your own goddamn steak!" said Mac, hands on his hips. "This isn't about you—this is about _Dennis_ , who can't even use a knife and fork right now!"

Frank and Charlie shared a glance that seemed to speak volumes between the two of them.

"Mac, uh, don't you think you're taking this whole Dennis thing a _little_ too far?" said Charlie. "I mean, getting him a steak and tying a napkin around his neck and everything?"

"You _did_ take it a little far with the napkin," Dee agreed.

"So that he doesn't get steak sauce on his fur!" Mac retorted, as if Dee and Charlie were idiots for not realizing this. "What do you think he is, some kind of savage?"

Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to the spot where the rat was dismembered.

"I'm ordering some steaks," Frank announced out of the blue. "Deandra, get Guigino's on the line for me."

* * *

Four steaks and eight beers later, the gang realized that Dennis had gone missing. And that a series of unhappy cries were coming from the back office.

It wasn't Dennis.

"You have got to be kidding me," said Dee, once the female cat had been released from the office. "Even as a cat, he's got himself a creepy sex trap."

Dennis had apparently lured the female to the back office, then somehow managed to shut her in so she couldn't escape. Pleased with his handiwork, Dennis perched himself on the desk and proceeded to groom one of his ears.

Mac stared. "I've got to say, guys, this whole cat thing was fun for a while, but now I'm starting to get bored as shit with it."

"I know, dude, right?" said Charlie. "How many times can you possibly clean yourself? Who does that?"

"What do you want to use, then?" asked Frank, as a distinctive _click!_ filled the air. "Silver bullets?"

"God- _damn_ it, Frank! No!" Mac snatched the gun away. "I think it's time we try to change him back. I've been kind of reluctant about returning him to the yuck puddle, because there's always the possibility he could turn into some _other_ animal, but at this point I just don't care anymore. Who's with me?"

"To the yuck puddle!" shouted Charlie. He then proceeded to get scratched when he tried to pick up Dennis. "Damn it, dude, you have got to work on your cat manners!"

Having learned the lesson that Dennis would only accompany them on his own terms, the gang headed off to the men's room. The yuck puddle was still there, glowing a strange silver color. Charlie wanted to drop a penny into it, but Mac held him back. "Are you crazy? What if it morphs into a bear?"

Dennis finally showed up, tail twitching suspiciously. He took one look at the yuck puddle and hissed, but it was too late. Dee tackled him and shoved him into the puddle, which began to glow brighter and brighter until the entire bathroom was blinded with the light—

—which immediately gave way to a room full of darkness.

"Holy shit," said Charlie, opening his eyes. "That was trippy."

* * *

The following day, a very human Dennis strolled up to the bar counter, where Charlie was scribbling in his dream book. Between all the misspelled words and hieroglyphics, Dennis was able to discern a distinctive figure drawn in crayon.

"That's a nice kitty-cat you drew there."

"Oh. Yeah, man," said Charlie, without looking up from his scribbling. "That's you."

" _I'm_ the cat?" demanded Dennis, voice pitched at a potentially dangerous level. "Why the hell would I be a cat?"

"I don't know, dude. It's this dream I had last night. You fell into the yuck puddle and came out as a cat, and us and the gang were having all these weird adventures, plugging up scratch wounds and feeding you steak and shit. See, that's Dee over there—" Charlie gestured with his crayon at a bird-like shape, "—cracking open a beer so she can pour it into a bowl for you. You were lapping that shit up."

Dennis shut the dream book, pity etched all over his face. "You really need to quit huffing glue before bed, Charlie."


End file.
